


chaos and bloodshed are second nature

by hot_damn_louis



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Based on a Criminal Minds episode, Bomb threat, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, Explosives, Flashbacks, Investigations, M/M, Near Death, Research, Terrorists, Threats of Violence, criminal minds - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-17 12:07:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29471439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hot_damn_louis/pseuds/hot_damn_louis
Summary: “A terrorist threat?” Q asked, fingers already flying across his keyboard, well aware of M standing behind his left shoulder, watching as he pulled up CCTV cameras and any other surveillance that he could find. “A specific location would allow specificity,” Q added, starting up the facial recognition software that he had developed after the Silva incident. He was not about to be made a fool by another sociopath because they had made assumptions about his competency.aka a terrorist threat has London officials scrambling to catch the quickly devolving terrorist group. Q is put in charge of analyzing what information they have and assisting the NCA agents assigned to the case to find the group. M decides to pull the inactive double-ohs into the investigation.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Kudos: 46





	1. Part !

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! I've had this idea in my head for a while. It's based roughly off of a Criminal Minds two part episode, so if you've seen the show you might recognize the general plotline. I've edited some of it to fit more of what I feel Q would do-- he's not a behavioral analysist but he would be able to use facial recognition software to limit suspects and figure out exactly who was at the scene.
> 
> I sort of love writing Bond/Q, and they're a nice reprieve from my usual Teen Wolf fics that I write. 
> 
> This will be two parts, with a potential epilogue depending on how I feel after writing it. 
> 
> All comments and kudos are appreciated! Thanks for reading!

“A terrorist threat?” Q asked, fingers already flying across his keyboard, well aware of M standing behind his left shoulder, watching as he pulled up CCTV cameras and any other surveillance that he could find. “A specific location would allow specificity,” Q added, starting up the facial recognition software that he had developed after the Silva incident. He was not about to be made a fool by another sociopath because they had made assumptions about his competency. 

“There have been fires and explosions across London for the past few months, with an increase in the past two weeks or so, the locations in an email that Moneypenny has just sent you,” M said, his voice crisp and clean as he spoke. His breathing was even and his vocal response in his normal range, which meant that he had taken the psychologist's advice for calming exercises. Interesting. 

“I see,” Q said, inputting the data from the email into his system. The map immediately linked the seven incidents, their marks on the screen almost beacons for Q’s eyes. He scanned over the data quickly while his facial recognition software worked in the background. 

The software would take the CCTV and surveillance footage from cameras surrounding the area and analyze the footage for similar faces. It would then match those faces to ones within their database, which would provide them a succinct list of suspects to work from. It was one of the more complicated aspects of his particular job, but Q knew it would take less than a half hour for the program to run to completion with the specific metrics. 

“We want some of the best prepped for field work,” M said, his fingers softly tapping on his phone screen behind Q. “We have three double-oh's in town currently. Will that suffice?”

Q already knew that. The three in town were Alec Trevelyan, Scarlett Papava, and one James Bond. What a trio the three of them will be. Deep down inside Q wished that someone like Steven Leong was in town, considering his precariousness and his ability to return both himself and his equipment back in one piece. Or perhaps Charlotte Harrison, although she was somewhat of a loose cannon when assigned anything with a great deal of immediate stress. She tended to stab people and steal things when her mission didn’t go exactly as planned, but that was not unlike any of the other agents. 

“Those three will be more than competent,” Q said, adjusting his glasses with one hand. “I will need them to brief before fieldwork, considering the delicacy of this terror threat.”

“R should have the rest of the information, and Moneypenny is heading down to assist. Goodluck, Q.” With that, M swept out of the Q branch, leaving speechless staff members in his wake. The only person who seemed to keep her head on was R, who had taken up the computer next to Q and was opening the files regarding the terrorist threat. 

“The situation?” Q asked, ensuring that the system was running through the footage correctly. He barely had a chance to glance at R, to even see what she had pulled up. 

“Fires at various law enforcement departments and explosions of several police vehicles have occured over the last three weeks,” R said, pulling up the file images to span the large screen in front of them. “The local detectives have brought in the MI-5 security, but they felt as if they needed the highest powered agents working on this, which is why they are passing it along to us here. They believe the nature of the case has something to do with the recent spikes in crime, and the resulting police brutality throughout London.

“The police have used some behavioral analysts to come up with a profile for the terrorist group, but they are finding it hard to discover suspects due to the nature of their communications. It seems as if the crew is doing it solely online through poems posted to a message board, which is a bit confusing for the everyday person,” R continued, pulling up the message board for the two of them. “I’ve started the language analysis program, but so far nothing. I think it will require some deeper digging in order to find anything regarding their specific targets and locations.

“They are profiled as intelligent due to the locations of their attacks. They have chosen cars and departments located on major streets, where any sort of delay or shutdown affects traffic patterns and disallows movement of civilians. They are likely all men who have issues with the government, authority, or the current handlings of the prime ministers crack down on crime through physical force. They can’t get any more specific than that, which leaves us a lot of people,” R said, looking at the screen. 

“Monitor the facial recognition software while I try and sort out the situation with the messages,” Q said, keeping his face neutral as he stared at the screen. “Send Willow to prep equipment for the double-ohs. I need three replications of the usual kit, but add bullet proof vests. She can bring them back here and help us debrief when the agents arrive.” 

R simply nodded and headed off towards their weapons master, her blonde hair bobbing behind her as she walked. She had the eyes of the entire department on her as she walked, everyone paused in their work as they watched her. 

“Back to work. We have a long day ahead of us and several hundred minutes of CCTV to analyze,” Q said loudly, commanding the whole space through his voice. At the sound of his instructions, the rest of the staff went back to their computers in order to help analyze the footage. 

When Q reached for his tea, he had noticed it went cold. Shame. 

***

Exactly 32 minutes later, the three double-ohs had shown up from their respective dwellings. They stood ramrod straight at the edge of Q’s vision, all the modicum of respectful soldiers. Scarlett had even tied her hair up into a bun, proving that she meant business rather than pleasure. The attention of the other Q branch staff didn’t phase them; if it had been any other mission, Q was sure that the three of them would be preening under the blatant lust coming off of half of Q branch. 

“I have gathered the agents,” R said, clutching her tablet in her hands. “Willow is to return with all of the necessary equipment, and I have our top three on the CCTV monitoring. We are roughly twenty minutes from a concrete list of suspects,” R added. 

Q merely nodded, turning his attention to the three agents. “Have you been briefed by M?” he asked, unsure of what M’s involvement was, outside of handing him a huge task regarding terrorism and walking away as if he had better things to do. Q was the sort of person who required specificity and clarity regarding missions, and this particular mission brief was just that: brief. 

The three of them gave a slight shake of their heads. Alec and Scarlett looked focused, staring without the slightest bit of emotion in their eyes. It was their particular military training; Alec had been trained in the Ukranian army before moving to London and transferring to MI-6, while Scarlett had been an American Marine Corps soldier with Special ops before being recruited by the old M. They were both lethal, and leaned heavily on their military training in situations like these. 

Bond, on the other hand, was the sort of man who stood sharply, but with his shoulders relaxed. He had the ability to change his overall attitude based on what the group needed, and he clearly was going to act as if this was not a big deal to offer some semblance of confidence and relaxation to the whole mission. He was raking his eyes over Q, and while Q was typically receptive to that sort of flirtatious behavior when he was sending Bond away for weeks at a time, he certainly was not interested in the attention now. He did not have the time to be flustered. 

“We have terrorist attacks focusing on London security,” Q started, launching into the exact details that they had currently gathered. It was not much more than what M had hand delivered them, but it was enough to start forming a picture of the potential threat, or group posing a threat. They needed to isolate not only the singular person creating the bombs, but also the group who was inciting the violence. 

“And what exactly are our orders?” Scarlett asked, all business. Instead of her usual hair flip and flirtation, she was being the good soldier she was meant to be. She had a level of patriotism, despite being American, that had her sacrificing everything for the Queen. Although, patriotism sort of ran deep with Americans. 

“You are to stay here until further notice,” Q said, gesturing towards Q branch. “If you would like a place to review CCTV and discuss your own tactical strategy, you may use my office,” Q added, gesturing back towards the closed off room against the wall. 

Bond took charge, leading them back towards Q’s office. He typed in the passcode and pushed inside, making sure to flip the switch that darkened the windows, allowing them privacy. Within moments, the entire branch was back to the usual hum of activity. 

“Did he put in the passcode for your office?” R asked, her mouth slightly agape as she stared after the three agents. 

“Yes, R. Can we focus back on the terrorists we are meant to find?” Q asked, looking back to the screens. He started going over some of the preliminary data, looking at specifically who was targeted and when for details about their terrorists. 

“But I don’t even have the passcode to your office,” R said, still stuck on the mere sight of Bond pressing in the right combination of numbers on Q’s pinpad. She looked between Q and the office, her eyes concentrating as if she was attempting to put two concepts together that didn’t quite fit. Her efforts were futile when it came to the threat they were attempting to deal with. 

“Back to work,” Q said blandly, his eyes scanning the screen for any sort of information useful to them. He was going to have a long day, if this was all he had to work with. 

***

_ “Stop,” Q said, batting hands away from his hips. “I still have to guide 001 through hacking into the mark’s computer, and I’d like to not have any sort of distractions.” _

_ “I’ll distract you.” _

_ “I know you will, but Allan is new and I’d like to keep him for a bit longer. He seems like a nice young man,” Q said, twisting to avoid the grabby hands of his lover. He pulled away, typing up commands into his tablet to bring up the security footage as he watched 001 walk into the compound, his body masked by his clothes but his gait rather distinct.  _

_ “He’s taking attention from me.” _

_ “You get enough attention as is,” Q said, skirting away from him as he pulled up the necessary program to assist on this particular information grab. He had the memories of rough hands on his hips and the scruff of a beard on the back of his neck, which meant that he did not need a recreation in his office.  _

_ “The shades are tinted though.” _

_ “I don’t care. I’m not having sex in my office while on comms for a mission,” Q said, batting his hands away.  _

_ “Am I interrupting?” 001 said, his voice coming soft over the comms.  _

_ “Not at all. Let’s get started,” Q said, the heat rising in his cheeks.  _

***

“The cross reference is back from the CCTV footage,” R said, pulling up the information on the screen. “We’ve narrowed it down to four faces seen across the cameras, all within the same hour time frame.”

Q looked at the images, hoping to place the faces with some of the known terrorist groups in London. They all appeared to be well standing business people; each were wearing simple clean clothes that were indicative of heading to an office. There was nothing about them that read as terrorist, although most never did look the part. “Are we checking it against our criminal databases?” Q asked, glancing at R. 

“Yes.”

“Call the FBI and Interpol and have them track it against stateside and international databases,” Q said. He gestured towards their clothing. “Upscale clothing means planning and precision, and I’d like to cast a broad net to catch them all.”

R nodded and scurried off, phone in hand. It had only been a little over two hours since M had originally dropped the terrorist threat on them, but it felt as if it had been nearly a whole day. Everyone was working overtime, and poor R was doing her best considering the majority of her job was overseeing staff rather than doing any sort of investigatory work. 

Q gestured towards the agents, who could see him from his office. They filed out neatly, standing at attention in front of the screens. “You are not detectives or profilers, but you all know people, so you are likely the most help that I will get in this scenario. Tell me who I’m looking for given their actions,” Q said, pulling up the evidentiary supply onto the screen. 

He had the incidents, the manner of the bomb, and the four potential suspects based on the CCTV footage. It was not a lot to go on, but he was confident that the three of them could find a detail to push and extrapolate outwards. There were links between the bombs, locations to consider, and amount of damage. Groups like this frequently wanted to inflict more and more damage, but each of the bombs had stayed at a similar scale. That was worthy of note. 

“Two bombs at half of the locations,” Alec pointed out, gesturing towards the evidence that had been compiled of a secondary, smaller explosion timed to go off about a half hour after the first. When people would have rushed in to help. 

“Targeting first responders,” Bond said, making the connection that none of the others were willing to say aloud. 

It was hard to imagine planning strategic terrorist attacks as is, but adding in the component of a secondary bomb had a sort of sadistic and evil feel. As if it were someone looking specifically for destruction and attention. 

“The attacks are becoming more frequent,” Scarlett pointed out, gesturing towards the left screen where the dates were included. “The first one was nearly six months ago, the second one three months after that. The next one six weeks.”

“Wait—” Q said, interrupting himself to pull up the dates again, eyes doing the mental math as quickly as possible. “They are enacting an exact halflife on the dates of the bombs.Based on the pattern, the next one will be— tomorrow at noon,” Q said, blinking at his own math. 

“Why morning?” Alec asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wouldn’t night time provide more cover?” 

“Not if they are beginning to lack concern. The half life is becoming exceedingly short. After tomorrow’s attack, we only have another 36 hours before they attack, and then another 18,” Q said, quickly adding up the math. He could feel a cold sweat on the back of his neck at the thought of the time constraint; they had a scant amount of time to figure out exactly where the attack was going to happen. The last few explosions might have been car bombs, but three people were dead. They were likely to escalate considering the blatant lack of media attention. 

The indication of a half life meant that the particular terrorists were both organized and precise; they had a particular message to be given, and they were planning on ramping up to a singular event. These sorts of terrorists, historically, did not have plans to survive this particular string of events. The message they were attempting to send was far more important than their lives. 

“R, start researching what sorts of events are happening on the next two bomb attacks. Start with security related things, but then expand your search outwards towards governmental personnel and any events in government buildings,” Q said, his brain attempting to work as quickly as possible. He did not have the behavioral psychology degree to back up his own claims, but he certainly had the knowledge of how criminals worked. One could not lead a team of agents through missions without developing a keen sense of data patterns and the particular ramifications of a criminal’s actions. 

“Yes, but we have M on the line. Something about the NCA,” R said quickly before scurrying off, delegating tasks to their top researchers. 

Q sighed, pulling up the call from M on his screen. He could feel the double-oh’s behind him discussing the terrorists, their heads bowed together as they spoke. He knew that a few minutes of them together would get them a lot farther than any other particular scenario, but he also knew that cooperation would likely be a large part of this particular operation. 

Reluctantly, Q started the call. “Sir.”

“Q, I have the NCA agents assigned to this case headed down to you, escorted by Moneypenny. I expect full cooperation in this sensitive manner,” M said, his face calm and stern. 

“Yes sir,” Q said dutifully. 

M looked over his shoulder, eyes landing on the double-ohs. “Please remind them that safety of the people is the priority.”

“I find that to be impossible, but I can try,” Q said, pressing his lips together. He could feel his shoulders tensing up at the thought of giving the double-ohs a specific instruction that they had to follow, but he knew there was no other choice. It was his job. He was required to. 

“Hourly updates, please,” M said. He hung up before receiving a response, presumably to handle something more important than the impending terrorist threat. 

“I do hope that you were listening and I do not have to repeat M’s words,” Q said to the agents behind him, not bothering to turn around. He heard a sound of affirmation, which led him to continue to stare at his screen. He had far more important work than babysitting double-ohs and waiting for the NCA to show up.

***

_ Rough hands smoothed Q’s hair down, soft lips pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Darling, are you falling asleep on me?” _

_ “Yes,” Q mumbled, burying his face further into the soft fabric of Bond’s shirt. “Please leave a message after the beep.” _

_ “I feel like we should move to bed. I’d like to not sleep on a couch tonight,” Bond said, his hands smoothing down Q’s arms, fingers trailing lightly on his skin.  _

_ “I don’t want this to end,” Q mumbled, fingers clutching at Bond sort of desperately. “James, I want to stay here with you.” _

_ Bond slid his hands around Q, shifting him as if preparing to lift him. “You act as if I’m going to run off.” _

_ “Always are. Running into exploding buildings, pretending as if your life holds no value,” Q said, pushing away from Bond to sit up for himself. He rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses, yawning. “Ignore my blathering. Let’s go to bed.” _

_ He led the way back through his flat, enjoying the feeling of Bond’s hands grabbing at his waist. He stripped to his pants, sliding underneath the cold covers. He watched with blurry eyes as Bond did the same, pulling himself over towards Q and cuddling up behind him. His body, firm and scarred from years of being an agent, was warm against Q’s skin.  _

_ As Q was going to sleep, he heard the soft sounds of Bond’s voice. “I’d stay alive for you.” _

***

The NCA agents seemed polite enough. They were nondescript, a dark haired man and a black woman, both in the sort of clothes that only detectives wore. They had a wide eyed look, having never been inside the labs at MI-6. The hall that held Q Branch was rather impressive for those who had never seen it before, and they certainly were not expecting the presence of the double-ohs lingering at Q’s elbow. 

“Agent Simons, and this is Agent Tafford,” the man said, gesturing towards his partner. He shook Q’s hand, with his partner following quickly. 

“Agents, this is my second, R,” Q said, gesturing towards where R was hurriedly discussing the new action plan with the other techies. “And these are the agents assigned to the case,” Q added, gesturing towards the double-ohs who were standing behind him. Snapping to attention, the double-ohs politely greeted Agents Simons and Tafford. 

The two agents seemed out of their wits in the underground security center; the clean white desks and the people milling about, all with the focused precision necessary for this line of work, was something that not many people experienced. Their eyes almost glazed over at the large screens that Q was working on, the data almost useless to them as they read over what had been accumulated so far. It was not particularly useful to have them so disturbed by the sight of the branch working at its best. 

“We’re identifying target locations and isolating what requires priority. The next attack is going to be in—” Q checked the countdown timer that one of the other staff members had started, “— seventeen hours.” It would be enough time to start the last of Q’s algorithmic processes while he napped on the cot in his office, refreshed for the morning rush of compiling data and dispersing response teams to the areas of the highest risk. 

He explained as much to the NCA agents, knowing that the double-ohs were listening over his shoulder. The one thing he could count on was their ability to multitask; the double-ohs were likely doing several things at once, and eavesdropping was most certainly one of them. It saved Q the breath of explaining it twice. If he had a few more minutes to code and decipher data from the scans, it would be a few extra minutes to ensure the decisions made. 

“We have to interview a few witnesses, but we will be back in the morning to continue the search,” the two agents said, glancing around at everyone else again. They exited swiftly, dispersing into the crowd of techies doing their jobs. 

Q could feel the stress beginning to pile on his shoulders. Instead of doing anything particularly irrational, he pulled up his working stool and got to work editing the lines of code necessary for the particular search algorithm he was setting up. He needed to sweep crime databases, the CCTV footage analysis, foot traffic for specific areas, and population numbers in order to compile a cross referenced list of what would be deemed “high risk” areas. It was to ensure deployment of officers to the specific locations necessary for optimal coverage of the city. 

The prediction might not be able to decipher exactly where the next attack would be, but it would allow an even and targeted dispersal of officers and security to the areas that were likely to be targeted, and require the most assistance It was all that Q could do, considering there was little to no knowledge about who the people were in the terrorist group. 

“Can I help?” Bond asked, his voice low as he spoke into Q’s ear. 

Suppressing a shiver, Q continued typing his lines of code. “Another tea, if you wouldn’t mind. Otherwise, kindly step back and allow me to work.”

Bond breathed out a huffy laugh, his breath hitting the side of Q’s face. “A tea it is.”

He could feel the eyes of others as Bond headed off towards the kitchens. They were not to know why Bond knew the quickest route towards the kitchen from Q branch, or how he knew Q’s exact tea order (Earl Grey with a splash of milk and a pinch of sugar, no more). He already knew the double-ohs were overanalyzing his every move, because that was their jobs, he did not need the eyes of his entire branch on him, not when they were supposed to be working. 

“I want status reports by 2200,” Q called out, his voice echoing through the branch. That got the rest of the staff to hustle back to work, sitting down at their computers and diving back into the work they were supposed to be doing. 

They had several searches to be performed, along with the analysis of the CCTV footage against any other facial recognition databases that they could get their hands on. None of the staff should be idle and complacent in the face of the terrorist threat, and Q was to make sure of it. Even if having Bond lean over his shoulder while he was working was an odd sight for most of Q Branch. 

“Darling,” Bond muttered under his breath, dropping the tea on the desk at Q’s elbow. He knew it was the least likely place to get knocked over, and the most likely place for Q to even remember he had requested tea in the first place. If anyone noticed that but Q, it was their own fault for being so particularly nosy about the lives of their coworkers when they had work to do. 

***

_ “James, you know you’re supposed to report in,” Q said, kneeling next to the toilet as he probed at the bruising on his side. “I may have several doctorates, but none of those allow me to practice medicine for any reason,” Q added, as if this needed to be pointed out for the seventh time.  _

_ “Don’t feel like it,” Bond gritted out, stiff as Q moved up to the several small knife cuts across his chest. None were large enough for stitches, but most would require some sort of butterfly bandage on top of the antiseptic that Q was about to apply. He could see the cuts stretch and move as Bond breathed, ensuring that they were of the more painful variety.  _

_ “You bastard,” Q muttered under his breath, stretching long pieces of gauze to tape over the cuts.  _

_ “Is that anything to say to someone you’re dating?” Bond murmured, barely wincing as Q applied more antiseptic before taping the gauze on.  _

_ The words gave Q pause. “Dating?” he asked, for clarification. He was not aware that their seven month tryst had turned into dating. He figured that the illustrious James Bond was not someone to tie himself down, and especially not to super geniuses who put work over everything else.  _

_ Although, the clothes that had started to take up Q’s closet, the alcohol in the cabinet, and the various knives and guns that had been tucked away throughout the flat should have been some sort of sign that they were working towards something entirely more permanent than falling into bed with each other every moment possible.  _

_ “If you’d like,” Bond said, far too politely.  _

_ “Then it is official. Does that change anything, saying that?” Q asked, smoothing a hand over Bond’s shoulder, looking up into his eyes.  _

_ “Only that I get to call you mine,” Bond said, his voice low. There was a heat behind his eyes, a depth in his voice, that made Q shiver. He let himself be pulled into a bruising kiss, the two of them moving hungrily against each other with the thought of a threat in the backs of their minds. When they had sex after Bond returned from a mission, it was always like this: hard and fast under the premise that he might not have made it back.  _

***

By the time morning rolled around, they had identified a few things: one, the culprits likely did not follow a typical business day schedule due to the nature of the attacks, and were thus not actual business people; two, the bombs were complex and not easily taken apart, meaning the double-ohs could not diffuse them; and three, they had not narrowed down the list of target areas any fewer than 50 locations. 

“Fifty?” Agent Tafford said, taking a note on a small pad of paper. “We don’t have the manpower to adequately cover fifty locations. Not if we plan on catching the people responsible.”

“Any update on that front?” Agent Simons said, glancing at the computer screens. 

“No direct pings on any of the identified people at each attack. We think that they’ve altered their physical appearance since the last time they were governmentally ID’d, but we have a facial recognition software looking for matches amongst all government databases,” R explained, gesturing towards her screen where the database was matching face to face. “We strongly believe that these particular faces are who we are looking for due to their proximity to the bombs and the statistical likelihood that a bomber would want to watch their work.”

“Classic narcissism combined with the desire to make sure it reached all intended targets,” Agent Simons said, nodding as if he understood what R was saying. He nudged Tafford, looking at where the double-ohs were lingering outside of Q’s office. “What do they think?”

Q caught Bond’s eye, waving them over. He tried not to focus on the way that Bond stood closest to Q over anyone else, even as he stood in perfect military precision. “They want to know what you think about the situation.”

“The group clearly is larger than these few people,” Scarlett said, gesturing towards the screen. “We have no hopes in identifying any of the other members unless we bring them in alive, and the likelihood of that is very low.”

“They want to prove a point, and if killing themselves also drives the point across, then they will do it. They believe they are sacrificing for their own cause,” Alec said, his eyes squinting at the screen. 

“What is their cause?” Tafford asked, raising his pen as if poised to take down their anwer. 

“They are attempting to prove a lack of security and care from the entire security system in London. Their attacks hit points of fragility,” Bond said, gesturing towards the screen where the map of attacks were laid out. “Both the frequency and the location insinuate that they are attempting to threaten the security to drive a reaction. They want us to react loudly and with intent, perhaps to crack down on security or to prove that the security measures that we have are absolutely worthless. Their drive is fear,” Bond continued to explain, glancing at his fellow double-ohs. 

Q was not a behavioral analyst, or even someone who was particularly good with people, but he could recognize the fact that they were dealing with a terrorist cell whose intentions were to cause fear. They would not stop until they were caught or they incited the fear they intended to incite. It was a terrifying thought, to be put in charge of figuring out exactly who these people are or where they were going to strike next. 

“Because of their proclivity to car bombs, we have prioritized security locations with a car park or a necessity for transportation. We are issuing a statement to every target on the list to not drive away from the building if at all possible, and to avoid taking the tube. We do not need another situation regarding the underground if we can avoid it,” Q said, thinking back to Bond’s situation with Silva. That had been a particularly harrowing moment in Q’s life, and while he would now more accurately assess the London underground, he was not particularly fond of recreating that particular disaster. 

He felt Bond stiffen next to him, shoulders unchanged but body language readably uncomfortable. He felt bad bringing up that situation; he knew how difficult those few days were for Bond. The last thing he wanted to do was bring up past trauma when attempting to deal with this current situation. 

“Limiting travel will reduce the number of men needed for each location,” Simons said with a nod, as if picking up on Q’s intentions. “I’ll take the list, and we can start to disperse our men.”

Simons and Tafford left, Tafford lifting his phone to his ear as he called whomever needed to be notified of the current plans. They had two hours to get all of the agents into position. 

Q excluded one location from the list he sent to Simons and Tafford, saving that particular location for the double-ohs that he had in his own charge. They were to protect the one location that Q could only trust them to protect: MI-6. He ignored the selfish feeling in his brain, the one that told him he was being entirely too careful and too selfish to have the three most lethal people protecting him and M. But he also knew the sorts of trouble that would occur if he had them assigned somewhere else and left MI-6 threatened. 

“What are our assignments?” Alec asked firmly, looking at Q. 

“There are three key points around MI-6 that are particularly vulnerable. I am sending out a staff-wide memo to not leave the building between 11am and 2pm today, leaving a three hour window for you to search every car on location, and any cars belonging to staff in the vicinity,” Q said. He looked at both Scarlett and Alec, unsure of how telling he would be if he looked at Bond. He was quite good at hiding his fear when he was acting as the commander of his own unit, but he felt as that would melt away under the gaze of his lover. 

“Q, a moment in your office?” Bond asked, his fingers gently tugging on Q’s sleeve. 

“Excuse us one moment,” Q said to the other two agents, trailing along behind Bond as they walked into his office. 

He took the extra precaution to black out the windows, ensuring that no one could look in and that Q could still look out at his branch. He wanted the security with Bond, the knowledge that they could touch freely without giving anything away in particular. He sort of wanted the comfort of Bond’s hands on him. He would have been less picky about it if he wasn’t attempting to be as strong as possible. 

“Are you alright?” Bond asked, his hands sliding along Q’s hips, looking intently at him, even as Q watched the people outside his office. 

“I want to be sure that I am making good choices,” Q said, thinking of Simons and Tafford, sending their men across the city in the hopes that they could potentially catch the group doing this. 

“You are,” Bond said firmly, one hand reaching up to cup Q’s chin. He tilted his face towards him, looking deep into his eyes. “I know you are,” he murmured, dipping to press a kiss against Q’s jawline. 

“You do not have to comfort me,” Q said, hands sliding up to grip at Bond’s shoulders. “I’ll be fine at my command center. This will be all over soon enough.”

“It’s my job, as your partner,” Bond said, pulling back to look at Q. “I am not sure who you were dating before, but they were tossers if they didn’t support you.”

Those words brought a smile to Q’s lips. He liked when Bond was acting particularly protective or concerned, because he knew that he cared. It was another way that he could feel Bond say “I love you” without him actually saying it. 

“I can even drive to your flat, check on the cats if you’d like,” Bond said, tipping forward so that their foreheads were resting together. “I know how much you worry.”

“My car’s in the park. In the spot closest to the entrance. Not the Capri, the Focus. The little indistinct one that you hate,” Q said, reaching underneath his desk for his keys. He lifted Bond’s hand and pressed the keys into his palm, curling his fingers around it. “Let Scarlett check it out first before you take it for a drive, alright?”

“I am perfectly good at identifying bombs,” Bond said, acting offended at Q’s words. He was only joking, but there was truth to his jokes a considerable amount of the time. He was likely entirely offended that Q trusted Scarlett to search his car over Bond. 

“I know you are, but you also don’t know new cars as well as you think. There are far more hiding places for bombs,” Q said, reaching up to cup the sides of Bond’s neck. “Please take care of yourself. Do not run into danger like you typically would.” 

“I’ll try my best,” Bond purred, his throat rumbling under Q’s hand. 

“James,” Q warned. 

“Quentin,” Bond said, equally as serious. 

Q shook his head, knowing what Bond was doing. He was trying to amuse him back into his typical state, taking him out of his worry so that he could work more efficiently. “You know that’s not my name.”

“Ah,” Bond said, lifting his other hand so that he could press a thumb to the corner of Q’s mouth, where it was lilting up into a smile. “It made you smile, which is all I can ask for.”

“Go,” Q said, stepping away from Bond, falling back into the precise persona he used at work. “I have to report to M and sift through the facial recognition analysis. You have London to save.”

Bond dipped and pecked Q’s mouth, sliding out of the office before Q could say anything else. He was sneaky like that, trying to throw Q off his game when he was at work. It was not everyday that Q had an agent trying to defile him in his office, yet it was happening more and more frequently. 

Instead of pondering that particular line of thought any further, Q rejoined the throng of people outside of his office. He had work to do. 

***

It was only a few minutes later, barely twenty, when a call was coming through the comms on Q’s computer. He saw it was Bond and immediately opened the line, continuing with his work. “Did you have another question for me?”

“No, I’m unsure of which car is yours. You said the Focus, right?” Bond asked, his voice slightly echo-y in the car park. 

“Yes. Should be spotless inside, tinted windows in the back,” Q said, trying to focus on his work rather than on the screen in front of him. He listened to the scuffling of Bond and Scarlett, their footsteps distinct due to their footwear and their walking posture. 

“Ah, Scarlett found it. I’m searching a car a row over, waiting for her to finish. Not that a joyride in an  _ automatic _ is any fun,” Bond said. His breathing in Q’s ear was so familiar, and the softness of his voice quite pleasurable. He was never as soft and kind on missions, particularly due to his focus on the job, but also due to the mindset that he placed himself in. He rarely broke away from the serious version of himself when he was on official business. 

“Don’t strain yourself checking underneath,” Q muttered, pulling up the data points on the map, ensuring that they were all covered as discussed. He had the CCTV footage running from every location on the wall of screens, showing every potential topic. 

The clock was narrowing down to 12pm exactly. It had Q worrying his hands together, the entire Q branch worrying their hands as they watched the wall of screens. On the lower left were the three security cameras from their own car park. He could see Bond ducking underneath a car. Only a select few MI-6 agents bothered driving in; the park was obnoxious to deal with if it was not necessary. After Silva, Q was required to drive into work. 

Only the highest clearance staff parked in the car park. 

He heard the explosion over the comms before he saw it. The aborted shout from Bond before the grunt as he impacted against another one of the cars. He saw the screen that had Bond on it light up with the explosion. When the dust settled, he could hear the shallow breathing of Bond over the comms, clearly passed out from the impact. On the screen, which Q had brought to full size, he could see Scarlett laying half in a pile of rubble. 

The car that had exploded was parked in the closest spot to the entrance. He could practically see the way he had to pull his car inside in order to pull into that particular spot. He could feel the turn of the wheel, the way he had locked the car yesterday morning. 

The car that exploded was his own. 


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “James?” Q asked, panicked, eyes wide as he watched the screens. He could barely look away from where Bond was laid flat on his back, partially blocked by the car he was inspecting. 
> 
> Scarlett was strewn like a doll about ten feet back from Q’s car, the flames high and burning hot, but nowhere near her. The alarm sound was going off in the building, and out of the corner of his eye Q could see R starting to dole out tasks to the others. She was taking command for the moment, letting Q stare at the screen where his partner was laying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Thank you for reading the first part. Here's part two. I know this isn't exactly the most romantic of tales, but I had this idea in my head and I could not let it go to rest until I had finished it. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“James?” Q asked, panicked, eyes wide as he watched the screens. He could barely look away from where Bond was laid flat on his back, partially blocked by the car he was inspecting. 

Scarlett was strewn like a doll about ten feet back from Q’s car, the flames high and burning hot, but nowhere near her. The alarm sound was going off in the building, and out of the corner of his eye Q could see R starting to dole out tasks to the others. She was taking command for the moment, letting Q stare at the screen where his partner was laying. 

“James, please say something,” Q whispered, blinking back tears. The last thing he needed was to cry in front of his branch. 

There was a soft cough on the other end before Bond said, “Q.”

“Fuck, are you okay?” Q asked, turning around to look at his own monitor. He quickly shot out a text to Simons and Tafford about the situation at MI-6 before pulling up the security footage of the garage, attempting to see who had come in contact with his car and how they rigged up the explosive. 

They were escalating. They had moved from patrol cars and street cops to inside an MI-6 garage. The only thing higher than that would be a leader of some sort of commission, possibly the Prime Minister if they were feeling dangerous. The half life aspect of the situation was out of Q’s brain— there was far too much to worry about when considering the dangers that the rest of London were in. 

“I’m fine,” Bond choked out. “I’m going to Scarlett. Send med evac.”

“We can’t,” R said, shaking her head at Q. “Most bomb sites had a secondary bomb. We have to find that one before we proceed, in case the med evac sets it off,” R added, pulling up the evidence of secondary bombs that the bomb squads had pulled from previous attacks. “It’s not guaranteed, but we can’t safely send med evac.”

“Q? Evac status?” Bond asked, his voice worried in his ear.

“We can’t,” Q said, his voice calm and far too cold for the situation. 

“Desmond. Send med evac.”

“James. I  _ can’t _ ,” Q said, almost grinding his teeth at the sound of his real name. “We do not know if there is a secondary bomb. Can you evac her by yourself?” Q quickly pulled up the video of the car park, searching for anything to help him in this particular situation. 

“Thirty minutes until you can send evac then,” Bond muttered, grunting as he stood. 

“You have permission to break into every car there for medical supplies, but I doubt any of those cars have any. Can you assess her? I can perhaps send a small crew down, or have an ambulance waiting at the door to pull her out quickly,” Q said, sending out a request to their own medical team, hoping that they had not stayed home today in light of the terrorist attacks. 

He pulled up Trevelyan’s comms, switching over to his comms. “Alec, where are you?” Q asked, fingers flying over the keyboard as he received all of the new information regarding the bombers from R. 

“Headed down to Bond and Scarlett. We split up so I could cover the top floor,” Alec replied, not sounding winded even as it was clear he was running. “What’s the evac status?” 

“We have to wait thirty minutes in case of a secondary bomb. Unless you think that you could evacuate her on your own—”

“We’re getting her out,” Alec said confidently. On screen he had jogged up to where Bond was kneeling next to Scarlett, falling to his knees beside them. “I don’t have medic training, not like Scarlett or James do.”

“That’s okay,” Q said, trying not to let the worry into his voice. He took a deep breath to help control his demeanor, keeping his eyes cold and calm. “Have James lead you through it. I’m switching back to his line.”

Q switched back to Bond but didn’t say anything, instead focusing on requesting backup to their location and a lockdown of all facilities. No one was to go in or out of the building, not when they had pieces of the puzzle to solve. They had to figure out the next target and prepare well in advance, knowing that they had less than 36 hours before the kill. That was if they stuck to a precise pattern; with the way they were specifically devolving, and the attack on Q’s vehicle, they might be far closer to their end goal than previous. 

It terrified Q that they knew enough about MI-6 personnel to attack him specifically, and that he could be in Scarlett’s place right now, but he pushed that thought out of his head. There was no time for worry or blame when he had terrorists to catch. 

“I have the team narrowing down our suspected list by identifying higher risk events,” R said, appearing at Q’s elbow. “They will likely attempt to escalate even further in order to prove a point.”

“How did they even figure out who I was?” Q asked, sending the car park footage through the facial recognition software, comparing it to the faces from before. “I take the long route to my flat, I ensure that I travel in a different vehicle every day, and I keep my cars clean so that no personal artifacts are left behind.”

“Maybe he was stalking the car park, to see who would cause the most damage,” R said, pulling up windows on her own screen. “We haven’t gotten a confirmed hit back on any of the faces from earlier, but we’ve found a partial match on one.”

“Only one?” Q asked, watching the screen with Bond intently. He could hear the murmured voice of Bond talking to Scarlett on the comms, but he was trying his best to pay attention to R’s words. 

“There is a partial match to a Thomas Flannery. He was fired from his job as a detective two years ago after punching a suspect in the face in an interrogation room,” R said, pulling up the profile. “If he’s really one of the terrorists, it would make sense why they were going after security and law.”

Q glanced at the file, trying to drown out the noise of Scarlett screaming as Bond and Trelevyan moved her into a flat position. He could see the way she gripped their shoulders on the security footage, clearly in pain. 

“Call Simons and Tafford. We have work to do.”

***

They had gathered in front of the screens only fifteen minutes later, with Bond and Trevelyan leaning over Scarlett on the screen next to them. Q was listening to them discuss her health, trying to talk without worrying her. It seemed as if there was a piece of shrapnel in her side that they were afraid of moving or bumping, for fear that it had severed something important. She was gasping for breath, loud enough that Q could hear it over the comms. 

“I think we’ve identified three potential locations for the next attack,” R said, pulling up the identified locations on the screen. “They would have to be escalations of the current attack, which would mean higher risk and higher reward.”

“Let’s get locations,” Simons said gruffly, rubbing his hand over his chin. 

“We have the security secretary in the hospital for surgery, the Prime Minister taking his daughter to her ballet recital, and the London mayor traveling to a meeting,” R said, pulling up the potential events. She gestured towards the locations, all across London. 

“Three is easier to manage than fifty,” Tafford muttered, his hands squeezing into fists. “What about your agent in the garage? Has the second bomb gone off yet?”

“No,” Q said, shaking his head. He glanced back to the video of his three double-ohs. He wanted to save Scarlett, he did, but he had to wait until they could safely approach. 

Bond’s voice cut through everything else, out of breath and sounding sort of panicked. “We’re out of time, Q. She has to go to the hospital,” Bond said, sounding strained. “She’ll bleed out if we wait any longer. It’s a stomach wound.”

“James—”

The loud sound of an ambulance cut through the noise, the sound of it backing into the entrance of the car park. On the screen, there was a pounding on the other side of the big garage door, the sound of someone’s voice muffled over the comms. Trevelyan got up and opened the door, a medic coming through with a gurney. 

“You sent someone,” Bond said, sounding much less strained over the comms. He was moving on the screen, hands bloody as he stood to hand Scarlett off to the medic. 

“I didn’t,” Q said, ignoring the way that the NCA agents were looking at him. He quickly got a screencap of the medic who had headed down into the car park, cross referencing it against their suspects and the databases. An average paramedic would not know where the entrance of the car park was unless specifically instructed. Unless one of the staff members went rogue, that man was suspicious and likely a culprit of the terrorist attacks. 

“You didn’t send him?” Bond asked, standing dumbly as the man was loading Scarlett into the back. “Q, he now has Scarlett in his ambulance, and you didn’t send him?”

“Go with, pretend like everything is normal,” Q said in a rush, watching the screen. He knew that he would lose sight of Bond the moment that they exited the view of the cameras. 

“She’s secure,” Bond said, nodding at Trevelyan to hop into the back of the ambulance with him. He was about to climb in when the paramedic said something to him, handing him a towel and gesturing towards the cab. Bond barely hesitated as he took the towel, wiping his hands off and climbing into the cab of the ambulance. 

“We’re on our way to the hospital,” Bond said, his voice tighter. The change in his voice would not be discernible to the paramedic, but it was to Q. It was a sign that he was aware of the predicament without being able to execute anything outside of their current plan. 

“I’m running background, making sure that the ambulance is legitimate. How did he find you?” Q asked, wishing he could see into the cab of the ambulance, see the way that Bond’s jaw was clenched. He was working double time in team with R, the two of them waiting as the facial recognition software was comparing the gritty security camera footage to the suspects they had already identified. 

“He said he heard the explosion from outside, pulled over to see if we evacuated,” Bond said quietly. 

“No match,” R said, shaking her head. “He’s not one of the earlier suspects.”

“007, he’s not one of the earlier faces we identified from the CCTV. Be wary, because we have not matched him across databases worldwide,” Q said, his hands evenly sending out new commands for the image. “He might be a civilian.”

Bond didn’t say anything, which was their standard signal for “heard”. He was likely attempting to hide everything from the medic, even as he was sitting in the back. 

There was far too much trust put into medical personnel. Q found himself shuddering at the thought of placing his trust into the hands of a doctor at MI-6, only to have them attempt to kill him. If this man was one of the terrorists, he would be attempting to target all three double-ohs as well as whatever his final destination target was. He was attempting to target Q. 

With the whirring of the ambulance in his ear, Q went to work pulling the security secretary’s location. She was likely in a hospital on the other side of London, closer to her home address. They likely had it locked down entirely already in preparation for her surgery. Pulling up the map, using Bond’s SmartBlood, Q could track him moving across the streets of London. 

Straight towards the hospital that they had the security secretary at. 

“Bond, you need to go to a different hospital,” Q said quietly over the comms, Agents Tafford and Simons looking at him with alarm. They scurried off, likely to make calls regarding the security secretary. “It’s a target location.”

“A different hospital? The nearest one is another fifteen minutes,” Bond said, voice tight. 

“You can’t! She’ll bleed out!” Trevelyan called from the back, his voice coming loud and clear over the comms. 

Q watched the screen churn out faces for the security images to match to. They were no closer to figuring out who they were outside of the faces they had identified, and they were no closer into figuring out how they were going to attack the security secretary. The hospital that they were going to did not have an underground car park nor easy access to the upper floors via sniper or some form of launched explosive. This man had a plan. 

He brought up the security footage again, watching it carefully over for any indication that the medic had a bomb on him, or a way to activate the second bomb. 

“There’s no second bomb on location,” R said, interjecting herself quickly. “Tafford and Simons are headed to intercept the double-ohs.”

“Update M,” Q said, his eyes trained on the micro movements on the poor quality security footage. After today, he was going to insist on higher quality cameras watching their car park. If someone could sneak in and place a bomb into one of their cars, then they had far more security issues than their internal servers. 

But if they had caught his car this morning, before he had driven to work. Rigged it so that it timed perfectly with noon. They couldn’t know that Q would be in the car, or guarantee that it would be parked in a way that would provide any sort of damage to anyone else. That was key to understanding them; they did not necessarily have human damage as a key aspect of their operations. They were there to incite fear, and being able to scare the entirety of MI-6 would have to be high on their list. 

“What about the footage from the parking garage?” Q asked, moving frame by frame through the actions of the medic. 

“No faces outside of MI-6. Key cards would be necessary to get in,” R said, shaking her head. 

“What about outside? I left my car outside to drop Bond off before I parked it,” Q said quickly, blinking as he tried to remember whether or not there were security cameras outside of the car park. “Pull the footage from those.”

“Dropped Bond off?” R asked, fingers flying over the keys as she found the other cameras. 

“Not a word,” Q said briskly. The specificity of their relationship was not something that his coworkers were intended to be privy to. If they had not assumed the worst at this point, then it was a wonder they were operational staff members in Q branch. 

“You are away from your car for approximately four minutes,” R said, gesturing towards where the footage was now playing on screen. 

He had wondered why Bond had pressed him against the side of the building, nipping at his throat as he whispered his personal regrets that they had work to do. Where Bond had pushed him against the wall placed the two of them at the periphery of the security camera, only the smooth lines of Bond’s back visible. 

His own preoccupation with his partner had left Q unobservant for far longer than he wanted to be. As he was occupied with Bond, a man had walked past the car, tucking a bomb into the wheel well where no one would have looked very carefully. It looked quite like the identification tracker that MI-6 had insisted on putting into Q’s wheel well, only on the other side of his car. 

“Get a cap of the man’s face,” Q said quickly, adjusting his glasses as he stared at the grainy face on screen. He could not personally identify the man based on his own eyes and observational skills, but he could see the similarities he had to the other terrorists. He was wearing business casual clothing, much like the other suspected terrorists and the MI-6 staff that were milling about. It was quieter on that side of the building, but he blended into the other staff members. 

“Comparing to our suspect list,” R said. 

Instead of staring at the screen with the man’s face, Q turned his attention back to the frame by frame action of the medic. He had no visible bomb on his person, but the bomb could be a part of the ambulance. If their target was the security secretary, then they would have hidden the bomb on the ambulance in order to have exact timing. 

It was only luck that they had managed to target double-oh agents instead of Q or one of his other staff members. The fuel that it would provide to a terrorist cell, one with an devolving structure and need for destruction— 

“We have a match,” R said, her voice quiet. She gestured towards the screen where the grainy picture of the medic was compared to a man in the US database, who fled the country for charges of domestic terrorism. 

Without hesitation, Q clicked over to Bond’s channel. “Do not react to what I am about to tell you,” Q said quietly, ensuring that his voice couldn’t be picked up by any others in the vehicle. “The medic is a US terrorist. He has the bomb and you’re driving straight into where they want you to. His real target is the security secretary,” Q added, typing in the commands to have Tafford and Simons return to Q branch. 

“I’ll see you later then,” Bond said simply. 

“Butterflies,” Q said quickly, heart in his throat as he imagined Bond, driving into the trap right now. 

“Butterflies,” Bond muttered back, voice barely discernible. 

***

_ The soft covers of Q’s bed were pulled up over their heads, blocking out the sun and creating a small bubble where the only important things were each other. Their skin slid together perfectly; Bond’s rough hands gripped Q’s legs and pulled him ever closer. Q traced the scars that littered Bond’s torso, his nimble fingers pressing gently against the injuries he remembered. There were so many he didn’t know about.  _

_ “I love you,” Q whispered, more to himself than to Bond. He wanted to acknowledge the bubble of feeling in his chest, the feeling of something far more than companionship and partnership. The relationship they had was fraught with poor communication and danger, but at the same time there was no other place that Q would rather be than in his bed with a double-oh agent.  _

_ “I love you too,” Bond said, pulling Q in sharply for a kiss.  _

_ “We need a codeword for it,” Q mumbled against his lips, laughing as Bond flipped the covers off of their heads aggressively. “You tosser, I am speaking practically.” _

_ “A practical codeword? Whatever do you mean?” Bond asked, straddling Q’s hips. He pulled Q up into a kiss, being positively too good at seduction for anyone’s good.  _

_ “Something I can say that will never give me away,” Q said, gripping hard onto Bond’s shoulders. “I’d rather keep my job and my livelihood around MI-6, if you don’t mind.” _

_ Bond pressed kisses down Q’s arm, eyes hooded as he gently sucked a digit of Q’s finger into his mouth. “Pineapple,” Bond said, smiling wickedly at Q.  _

_ “Butterflies,” Q suggested, half shrugging, even as he thrusted upwards against Bond.  _

_ “That’s preposterous,” Bond said, pausing.  _

_ Q pulled Bond into a biting kiss, pressing every available inch of skin against him. “You love it.” _

_ “Butterflies it is then,” Bond muttered.  _

***

“M’s asking for an update on Bond,” R said, her tablet clutched in her hands. 

“Tell him his comms are off. So are Alec’s. We’re flying blind,” Q said, pressing his fingers to his eyes underneath his glasses. He straightened his spine, trying to feel as if he had some semblance of control over the scenario. 

He currently had three working theories for how this situation could end. 

First, the bomb would go off at the hospital with maximum damage, ensuring danger to all three double-oh agents and the security secretary. 

Second, the bomb would go off at the hospital with minimal damage, destroying property but with the minimum risk to other people in the vicinity. 

Third, Bond would find some way to put himself in extreme danger while disposing of the bomb. 

“M doesn’t like that answer,” R said, reading from her tablet. She bit her lip as she glanced up at Q, her shoulders tense. She took a shuddery breath, glancing around at where the other Q branch staff were scattered around, most giving up their work now that they knew the medic was a bomber. There were a few who were continuing to research, in hopes that they could find the other terrorists, but the scurry of activity had subdued considerably.

“He can piss off,” Q muttered, glancing back at his screen. “Don’t actually tell him that.”

R nodded, putting the tablet down. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“If I were a bomb maker attempting to ensure maximum damage, where would I put the bomb?” Q wondered to himself. 

“They went to St. Thomas’, right?” R asked, pulling up the schematics for the building. She had the blueprints at the ready, showing the entrances and exits. “With the ambulance entrance here, it would have to be a mighty bomb in order to cause any sort of damage in the upper levels,” R said, gesturing towards the blueprints with one finger.

“It must be portable,” Q said, frowning at the screen. He turned back to the screen with the security footage, his eyes squinting at the frames as he clicked through. He watched the medic open his emergency bag, pulling out gauze. The bag shifted, far more square and pointy than a typical grab bag. The quality of the footage was abysmal, but there was clear evidence of a square object in the bag itself. 

“The bag,” Q said, gesturing towards the screen, catching R’s attention. “He packed it into the bag. No one will question the medic walking through a hospital with his own kit.”

R’s hand flew to cover her mouth, blinking at the sight. “I’ll tell Simons and Tafford.” She dashed away, calling out to the agents who were standing uselessly around the corner. 

“James, if you can hear me give me a sign,” Q said, clicking over to the correct comms channel. “I’m adding Alec. Can either of you hear me?” Q added. He paused, cocking his head as if to listen better to the absence of noise. He waited for a signal, any sort of movement or noise that would notify him of their ability to listen. 

“Alec, could you speak up? I’m a trifle deaf in this ear,” Bond said, his voice coming over clear. There was a scuffling noise, the slight breathing of Alec picking up on the comms. 

“The bomb is in the medic bag. In his kit,” Q said, inhaling slightly as he waited for a response. 

“Nothing of importance,” Alec said, slightly louder than normal. Clearly playing into the ruse that Bond was setting up. Even if said ruse was a quote from a movie about a deranged chocolatier. 

Q let out a breath softly, his shoulders loosening and dropping the stress. The two of them were highly capable agents, and they completed missions more complicated than this on the regular. Grab missions were ones given to far lower agents, even with maximum security. The two of them together would be far too much manpower for the single terrorist. 

“Security for the hospital,” Q muttered to himself, fingers flying on the keyboard as he began to hack into the cameras. It was standard issue to have cameras within the hospital corridors, and while they might not be all inclusive, he could track the movements of both the terrorist and his agents. Enacting SmartBlood would not be enough for this particular endeavor; the specificity of the cameras would allow the best assistance that Q could provide. 

“James, I am looking for you on the cameras,” Q said, not bothering with codenames anymore. He was finding resistance from the several layers of security, but he tore through it faster than anticipated. Hacking, unlike in the movies, took more than a few keystrokes to gain access. He was finding it to take exactly a minute and a half, which was much faster than his “contemporaries”. 

“We should stay in sight of Scarlett,” Bond said. “I want to thank the medic for bringing us here,” Bond added. To anyone standing by, they would assume nothing of importance from this particular exchange. Listening to his voice, the inflections and preciseness of words, Q could read his language loud and clear. 

He was going after the medic, Alec was to stay with Scarlett. 

“Do not put yourself in unnecessary danger,” Q warned, his voice tight as he pressed the final few keystrokes, pulling up the security footage. It took a moment to sort through the images on his screen, but he found Bond striding confidently through the cameras, glancing up at each one as he passed. 

Without wasting time, Q started to search the cameras for the other man. He searched for the terrorist, his eyes scanning over faces in the hospital. The hallways were not crowded enough to make the search immensely difficult, but the large number of cameras made the search fitful. Watching one meant not watching any of the others, creating a larger margin of error. 

He caught a glimpse of the man, heading back towards the ambulance bay, dipping into the ambulance he had driven to the hospital in. “Ambulance bay, where he dropped you off. He’s retrieving the bomb.”

“Copy,” Bond muttered, stalking with a purpose towards the stairs. He took them quickly down, his feet swift on the metal steps as he worked down to the ambulance bay. He had his hand on his sidearm as he stepped out into the open air, the identical ambulances standing in a row. 

“Dipping down beside his ambulance,” Q said, attempting to get a better visual on the man. The cameras at the hospital were of equal quality to the ones in their own car park: absolutely atrocious. 

“Which one,” Bond muttered, slowly stalking forward. 

“Third or fourth. I can’t tell from the angle of the camera,” Q said, trying to piece together the narrative using the cameras that had no coherent system to their placement. The jarring cuts between similar but vastly different angles was not helping Q assist Bond in any way possible. It was as if he was putting together a puzzle where none of the pieces coherently matched, despite creating a single image. 

“Right,” Bond muttered. He stalked down the row of ambulances, dipping to glance between every vehicle as he passed. There was strength and confidence in every move, giving Q the utmost confidence that he could attack and subdue the assailant. 

Bond noticed the terrorist before Q could adequately warn him. Rather than wait for a tactical time to take him down, Bond ran forward and tackled him away from the bomb, throwing his weight into keeping him on the ground. Bond must have absorbed a few hits to his torso before he pushed away from the man, his fist slamming into the other man’s face. 

“Send Agents Simons and Tafford to St. Thomas’ now!” Q commanded, gesturing towards where R stood with them. “Bond has him.”

He watched the screen as Bond whispered something into the thrashing man’s ear. It was clear that Bond had turned off his comms purposefully in order to say whatever had the terrorist slowing his thrashing, eyes widening comically on the video. His body stilled, only momentarily. When Bond reached to grab something to restrain the man, the terrorist’s hand punched into Bond’s gut, tossing him off. Bond swept the man’s legs before he could go far, grabbing handcuffs out of his back pocket to restrain him. 

There was a flash of silver as the man pulled out a knife. He thrust it towards Bond, nicking his arm. Another thrust and Bond was sweeping out of the way, maintaining an arms length distance where they were kneeled on the floor. 

The man said something that Q couldn’t hear, his mouth moving on the screen. He then promptly slit his throat. 

***

_ “Have you ever contemplated using your exploding molar?” Q asked, his fingers gently sliding down Bond’s spine, stopping before he got anywhere interesting.  _

_ “Yes,” Bond said honestly, twitching at the sensation of Q’s hand, stopped at the small of his back, in the place just before the swell of his butt cheek.  _

_ “Why?” Q asked. He tried to keep his facial expression neutral, but the thought of Bond compromised to the point of taking action was a tad bit startling to Q. He was well aware of the necessity of the self-destructive implements in each double-oh, but he had never seen an agent use it before.  _

_ “Why?” Bond asked, pushing himself up onto his elbows. He looked mildly confused at the question.  _

_ “Yes,” Q said, dipping to press a kiss to Bond’s shoulder.  _

_ “I don’t know why,” Bond said, staring at a space just past Q’s head. “Things happen in the line of duty. If you are compromised to a point of failure, it’s your duty to finish the job.” _

_ “But what about the rest of us?” Q asked, letting his head drop onto the pillow.  _

_ Bond merely looked at him, his eyebrows twitching downwards.  _

_ “I know that Queen and country lies above all else, but would you regret it? In the end?” Q asked, looking up at the ceiling. He let his tongue feel his own molar, a cyanide molar, that nestled smoothly in the back of his mouth. They put it in after Silva— it was supposed to be in the moment he had become head of Q Branch but things had been delayed— and he had not thought about it since.  _

_ “Are you asking if I’ll miss you?” Bond asked, reaching to wrap an arm around Q’s waist. “Because I would miss you dearly. And I would regret leaving you here alone, without a double-oh to pester you both at work and at home.” _

_ Q didn’t press the topic further. He could tell that Bond was expressing his limits by making a joke, and he knew that his questions would be out of line if he pursued them further. His own curiosity about why someone would end their own life would have to be on pause. The curiosity was only to fuel his own perception of when his molar would be used; it was given to him with the precise instructions not to let secrets out, but he needed a baseline in order to not become hair trigger.  _

_ “You act as if Trevelyan wouldn’t step in to pester me regularly in your absence,” Q said, snuggling closer to Bond.  _

_ “Do not leave me for that Russian bastard,” Bond growled, leaning over to nip at Q’s neck.  _

***

“Fuck,” Bond muttered, his comms back on. “I have no idea where the bomb is, where he stowed his bag,” Bond added, his form moving quickly across the security camera feed. He quickly searched the body, his hands coming up bloody from the copious amounts leaking from the gash in the man’s neck. He tossed a few things away from the body, but clearly they meant nothing to Bond. 

“I’m connecting Alec to this,” Q said, quickly pressing the commands to loop in Trevelyan on the call. He could feel the hum of his department around him, but his eyes were glued to his screen. 

“Bond, where the bloody fuck are you?” Trevelyan said, his voice stern over the comms. 

“Ambulance bay. Target dead. I need to find the bomb,” Bond said, standing as he completely disregarded the body. 

“Where did he leave the bag? The medic bag?” Q asked, pulling up the other security cameras for the ambulance bay. He scanned through them quickly, his eyes raking over the poor quality in hopes to find any sort of sign of the bag. He could see Bond moving through the cameras, but the bag was not out in the open, not where Q or Bond could see. 

“Not here,” Bond said, shaking his head. “Are you sure that he was coming back to retrieve the bomb? What if he left it upstairs?” 

“He didn’t have the bag when he came inside with Scarlett,” Trevelyan said, correcting the two of them. “I can come down—”

“No,” Bond and Q said in unison, their voices harsher than necessary. 

“Keep an eye on Scarlett and for any of the other terrorists,” Bond said, moving back towards the line of ambulances.

“I’m having R send you a list of suspects and pictures to your mobile. Keep an eye out for them” Q said, gesturing towards R next to him. He saw her punch in a few keystrokes to her computer, sending off the information. 

“Where would he leave the bag,” Bond asked, stepping around to peer into the back of the ambulances. 

Q wracked his brain, attempting to remember the exact sequence of events. “In the ambulance, that’s the only place,” Q said, clicking backwards in the security footage. “Go back to the ambulance you pulled up in, it must be there.”

He watched as Bond jogged to the ambulance that they had pulled into the hospital in, the back door swung half open. There was a smear of blood on the door, from where they had shoved it open in an attempt to save Scarlett. Bond pulled it open on the screen, ducking inside.

Q acknowledged the fact that he was holding his breath. He couldn’t help that when his partner, his lover, was somewhere else holding a bomb that could kill him instantaneously. The odds of it going off immediately were low, but considering the dissolving plan, the odds of it going off soon were higher than Q could account for. Predicting the odds of human nature was not a part of his job, and it certainly was not a mathematical equation he could use. 

“Fuck me,” Bond muttered, his breathing coming harsh over the comms. 

“James—” Q started. 

“Two minutes until it explodes, Q. What do I do.”

It was as if time paused momentarily, Q’s breath caught in his throat. He had two minutes to redirect him to a safe area in order to dispose of it. 

His hands moved quickly over his keyboard, typing in keystrokes to pull up a map of London centered on Bond’s location. “Leave the hospital quickly and efficiently,” Q said, watching Bond move across his map. “Take the left when you leave the hospital and head straight down the block. Quickly now.”

He was limited to only hearing Bond at this point. There was no reason to spend the extra time pulling up CCTV when he needed to focus on saving Bond and London. He removed Trevelyan from their comms; he did not need another man’s input into this particularly sensitive scenario. He had two minutes to direct Bond to safety, and Trevelyan was frequently unhelpful in timed stressful situations. 

“Q?” Bond asked, slightly out of breath. 

“Run towards the Thames, James. It should take you roughly 72 seconds—”

“I love you,” James said, nearly out of breath. 

“Don’t act as if you’re going to die on me. You are not going to die,” Q said, standing ramrod straight. He could feel tears threatening to spill out from the corners of his eyes. He didn’t want to show weakness in front of his branch, he couldn’t. Prim and proper and ever stern was Q’s own way of handling his branch, and he was certainly not going to crumble under the pressure of saving his boyfriend. 

“Desmond I’m serious,” Bond breathed. 

“I will kill you myself if you do not make it back,” Q said sternly, reaching up to wipe a stray tear from his eye before it rolled down his face. 

“I have a locker full of things in the basement training center. It’s yours.” 

“James, you have twenty seconds to throw that bomb into the Thames you bastard,” Q said, his hands shaking as he pushed his glasses up his face, watching the blip of Bond’s SmartBlood on his screen. He could see it near the river, only to stop just short. 

“Q—”

The bomb explosion was loud over the comms, but not nearly as deafening as it would have been in person. The sound of water splashing, of the displaced water crashing back into the water, was almost as loud as the first explosion. The SmartBlood flashed for a moment, as if it was failing to register Bond at all. 

“I love you,” Q whispered, glad that the final words of Bond’s were for his ears only, in his headset. He could see the onlooking Q Branch staff, staring at R’s screen. 

On her side she had pulled up the CCTV footage of the river, showing a crumpled body next to the embankment and splashes of wet on everything visible. Q watched as the body twitched and moved, rolling over onto its back. 

“Fuck me, darling. Tell me not to do that again,” Bond muttered over the comms. 

Q let out a sigh, tipping his head back in full relief. He could feel the tension flood out of his body. He had held the tension of the last few days in his heart, clenching it there as if it was contained. He had ensured that he took the brunt of the situation, avoiding hurting the rest of his department at all costs. Now, he could finally sit down and relax as if he wasn’t entirely too stressed. 

“I have never been so happy and so angry, Mr. Bond.”

“I am an absolute menace, Q. I am aware,” Bond said, laughing lightly in his ear. 

***

_ Q scooped up his cat into his arms, nestling his face against the soft fur. He attempted his best not to concentrate on the fact that Bond was gallivanting across Brazil, attempting to locate and assassinate some sort of worldwide drug peddler. The last contact he had with Bond was several days ago when Bond had promptly crushed his earpiece upon being found out by the mobsters there.  _

_ “He’ll come home,” Q said to Darwin, his cat. He said that more for himself than the cat; he knew the risks and rewards of dating a double-oh. He knew the way they had to hide their relationship, which meant no support from others. Except Moneypenny, who was downright convinced that she was setting them up every time they got drinks together.  _

_ The cat merely meowed in protest of being held, squirming to be let down.  _

_ “Everyone always leaves me,” Q said, sort of pathetically. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, running a hand over his mess of hair. He vaguely knew where Bond was because of the SmartBlood, but he was also aware of the intricacies of spycraft and the fact that he couldn’t burn the world down to find him. Not yet.  _

_ “I would never,” Bond said, his voice echoing in the airy flat.  _

_ Q turned quickly to look at him, sort of shocked to see him leaning heavily on the doorway, head tipped forward. “How long have you been standing there?” Q asked, rushing forward towards him, placing his hands gently onto Bond’s torso.  _

_ “Long enough to hear you moaning to Darwin,” Bond said, leaning into Q’s touch. He smiled, leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “Now, would you mind helping me stitch up this wound in my back? I would have, but its behind the shoulder blade and I can’t quite reach there,’” Bond murmured.  _

_ When he put things like that it was almost alluring.  _

_ “One day I’m going to eviscerate you myself, purely for giving me gray hairs,” Q said primly, guiding Bond over towards the couch.  _

_ “I love you too, darling.” _

***

The thing that Q disliked about movies was the distinct lack of acknowledgement for the cleanup after a disaster. The Q Branch, in all of it’s glory during missions, frequently did far more work researching before, and cleaning up after. If Q had to draft a quarterly report discussing resources and time allotment, he would have significantly less time devoted to on mission support than any of the higher ups would think. 

“R, can you assign this new case file to one of our best?” Q asked, typing up some scant notes regarding the nature of the events that transpired. He attempted to keep it as clean and professional as possible, but he could not help leaving out a few details when it came to Bond’s involvement. While he formed an unhealthy attachment with one of the double-ohs, he was not going to encourage some poor staff member to get wrapped up into their world. 

“Yes. M wants to see you,” R said, not looking away from her screen as she typed, compiling their findings into a neat file to send over to one of those sitting behind a desk in the larger Q Branch. 

“Fuck me,” Q said, sighing as he neatly finished his notes. “Please notify me when Trevelyan and Bond return for debrief. I’d like to go over everything myself.”

“Of course,” R said, smirking knowingly. She had a glint of mischief in her eyes, the same glint that had Q promoting her the moment he became head of Q Branch. It was that attitude that had her as his second and most trusted coworker. 

“Discretion, R,” Q said, pressing his lips together. “While you may know my business, I do know that you’ve slept with Mr. Connor Eldridge from accounting and Dr. Eliza Cunningham from medical,” Q said quietly as he passed by her, smiling at his own knowledge. 

“Discretion is best,” R said quickly, her eyes trained on her screen. 

Q headed off quickly to the elevators, nodding to himself. He appreciated the jabs between him and R; after a mission like this where agents got hurt and danger was thoroughly intertwined with every step, it was nice to take a step back and act as if every decision is not life changing. 

The ride up to M’s office was brutal, as always. Heading up to his office was not a pleasure that Q took very often, and he rarely took it under good circumstances. He knew that other agents and staff members regularly took meetings with M, but if Q could condense it down to an email or a short message, he much preferred that. M’s office was cold and uninviting, and while the same could be said about the stark white of Q Branch, there was a level of confidence that Q lacked when he was outside of his element. 

“Moneypenny,” Q greeted, standing up straight in front of her. If he was forced to stand for too much longer he could imagine himself swaying with exhaustion. The last 48 hours were not the most stressful that Q had ever had, but it certainly was the longest Q had been forced to stand at his station out in the main branch rather than hiding with his comms in his office. 

Moneypenny glanced at the closed door, as if waiting to hear it open. She leaned forward conspiratorially, looking almost predatory. “You two are fucked. 

“Excuse me?” Q asked, blinking as if that were to change the words Moneypenny had spoken. 

“I knew you two were dating, obviously, but M didn’t. He seemed fairly angry when he brought Bond in, almost ten minutes ago,” Moneypenny said, making a face. 

“I see,” Q said, smoothing down his wrinkled cardigan. 

Moneypenny stood, knocking primly on the door. “I have Q here to see you,” she said, calling out, voice likely muffled by the thick oak door. When she heard some sort of indicative noise, she pushed the door open. “Good luck,” she whispered as Q passed by her, almost apologetic in tone. 

The dark wood tones of M’s office were always sort of disconcerting in comparison to Q’s own office and his personal sensibilities. His own home was mostly whites and grays until Bond had moved in, dragging his dark blue couch with him and implementing blackout drapes in the bedroom. Even then, the stark whites of Q’s own home, particularly the kitchen, are where he found comfort. Tidiness and cleanliness were key to him. 

“Sit,” M said from behind his big desk, gesturing towards the seat next to Bond. He cocked an eyebrow, as if to challenge a bit of Q’s own ego before he even sat. That was the sort of thing that this M would do; he didn’t have the poise and command of the room that the old M did, but he had his own tactics. Small remarks made it hard to try and speak up against him, particularly when he sat behind his desk, calm as ever. 

Q took the seat next to Bond without looking at him. This was the part they were good at: ignoring each other. They might snip at each other more while in the building, but they rarely crossed professional boundaries in sight of others. Q always made sure his office was private if they were going to do anything but talk, and he never let Bond kiss him outside of his office. They always kept things outside of the building.

Although, this particular conversation felt worthless in the face of the last 48 hours. Rather than discuss their particular relationship, Q was looking forward to debriefing and heading home as soon as possible. He was not excited to linger about as if he wasn’t completely and totally exhausted. 

“Now, please give me a debrief of the entire terrorist event, Quartermaster,” M said, his hands folded neatly on top of his desk. 

The word “Quartermaster” had Q tense up. No one called him Quartermaster seriously; only Bond ever used that word anymore, and he was mostly teasing when he did. 

“How detailed of an account would you like?” Q asked, sitting ramrod straight in his seat. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the way that Bond slouched, as if he didn’t care what M had to say. While Q felt the same, he was scant to show that. He wanted to maintain his professional tact. 

“You stopped giving hourly updates at 1200, so from that point forward would be excellent,” M said, tapping a piece of paper on his desk. 

Q couldn’t help but wonder if he printed out the status reports that Q had sent. They were mostly single paragraph descriptions of what they had uncovered, with most of them merely a single sentence. The events that had transpired after the explosion were not ones that Q wanted to describe in detail aloud. He certainly did not want to detail the private conversations going on through the comms. 

“After Scarlett had been affected by the explosion, which I had R report shortly after detailing the random civilian who had shown up in an ambulance, they were taken to St. Thomas’ hospital near the Thames,” Q said, his voice flat as he recalled what had happened. “We ran the security footage and facial recognition, figuring out that he was the likely terrorist we were looking for, and had the bomb in his medic bag. Because of this, 007 and 006 separated, with Bond heading downstairs to the ambulance bay to intercept the terrorist.

“After a scuffle, the terrorist slit his own throat. I instructed Bond in finding the bomb and disposing of it before it exploded. This involved throwing it into the Thames,” Q finished, taking a deep breath. 

“So the stories match,” M said, sitting back in his chair. “I was curious if Bond had went off on his own devices while disposing of the bomb. You instructed him to throw it into the Thames?”

“Sir, it was the only area in London capable of absorbing the bomb. Otherwise there would have been destruction to some form of property. I found water to be displaceable,” Q said, pressing his lips together. 

He was curious about this particular line of questioning. This could have been summarized by the incident reports necessary for any post mission destruction. Meeting with M was typically reserved for situations which could be resolved via email, and he certainly was not excited about his time being used in this particular manner. The mere fact that the bomb was tossed into the Thames should not have been an issue for Q’s department, all things considering. 

“I will remind the two of you only once: I have access to the comms recordings. While I may not understand what ‘butterflies’ means, I certainly know what—” M clearned his throat, “ —the other conversation meant. Keep that between yourselves next time. And try not to let this get in the way of your work.”

“Sir?” Q asked, trying to hold back his shock and confusion. If M brought up their relationship, he was half expecting to be fired. Or instructed to never see each other again. Not a mild acceptance and a warning, or all things. 

“Dismissed,” M said, flicking his hands at them, his eyes trained on his tablet in front of him. 

Q and Bond filed out of the office, Q leading the way out towards Moneypenny’s desk and the waiting area. He could feel Bond behind him, walking far too close for an unnecessary reason. He spun when they were clear of M’s office, turning to face Bond. 

“Avert your eyes, Moneypants,” Q said, not bothering to look at her. 

Bond leaned down and kissed him quickly, firmly. He pulled back after a moment, letting his hand ghost over Q’s hip in only a shadow of his affections. “Talk later,” Bond said ominously, stalking out of the office and down the hallway before Q could say anything else. 

“Can I look again?” Moneypenny asked.

***

_ Q could imagine sliding a ring onto Bond’s finger, if that was something they mutually agreed on. He could almost feel the warm metal against his skin as Bond gripped his hips, or the glint of it on his hand as he held a gun up to shoot some bad guy. Not that he would ever ask, or that he would dare bring up a commitment like that to Bond, who was distinctly a commitment-phobe outside of long term partnership.  _

_ “You think too much,” Bond said, dipping to kiss Q’s neck as he cooked. “All that thinking is ruining the eggs.” _

_ “Shut up,” Q said playfully, jabbing his elbow back into Bond’s torso. “The eggs will be fine.” _

_ “Only teasing, darling.” _

***

“James?” Q called out into his flat. Their flat. 

“In the kitchen,” Bond called back. 

He walked further in, almost glad to see Bond shirtless at the stove. He had the scars on his back almost memorized by now, the feeling of them so familiar underneath his hands. He couldn’t resist dropping his bag and letting his hands slide up Bond’s back, towards his shoulders. 

“Can we watch something tonight? I’m too tired for anything else,” Q said, leaning forward until his forehead was pressed against Bond’s bare skin of his shoulder. 

“Anything,” Bond said, flipping the burger patty. 

“Hm. Tempting offer,” Q said, sliding his hands around Bond’s torso, plastering himself to his back. 

“Now that we have M’s blessings,” Bond mused, reaching back to pat Q’s side lovingly. 

“What did he say to you? Before I got there?” Q asked, his words muffled by Bond’s skin. He pressed his face further into Bond, wanting to feel the rumble of his voice as he spoke. 

Bond hummed for a moment, as if to stall for time. “He warned me off. Told me to break things off before—” Bond stopped talking abruptly, stilling entirely. He felt almost stiff, and Q pulled away to respect his personal boundaries. 

“Before?” Q prompted, leaning on the counter next to the stove, eyes searching Bond’s carefully blank face. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Bond said, shaking his head. He avoided eye contact as he stepped aside, preparing their plates with loaded burger buns, the fancy kind he always bought after having one in the States. 

Q reached out and touched his forearm, only barely. “It does matter.”

“He told me to stop seeing you. Before I broke your heart with my ‘charming and illustrious ways’,” Bond said, the last part very clearly a quote of M’s words. “I told him that would be difficult due to my own personal involvement.”

“What did he say to that?” Q asked. He could feel his heart thrumming at the thought of Bond standing up to M, sticking up for their relationship. He knew the hardships that Bond had faced in the past, the way that he had his grand loves turn on him, and he was working very hard to provide Bond stability. It had been almost nine months, if not longer, of their healthy and stable cohabiting relationship. They were far deeper than M’s own implications. 

“He told me I needed to be serious. And I said I was entirely,” Bond said, checking the burger, keeping himself busy as he talked. “I told him I didn’t say ‘I love you’ to anyone, and that I certainly was not going to throw that phrase around when it came to you if I didn’t mean it,” Bond added, reaching over to run a hand over Q’s shoulder gently. 

The signs of Bond feeling both mildly insecure and a little desperate for reassuring affection was fairly obvious, to Q at least. He reached to place a hand on Bond’s hip, steadying him by tugging at his belt loops and not letting him stray too far. This simple gesture had Bond standing firmly again, instead of shifting side to side as he cooked. 

“You came in right after that. He seemed to accept what I had to say,” Bond said, shrugging. 

“I do love you,” Q said, tugging at his trousers, trying to pull him into his orbit. “More than you probably know, 007.”

“My dear Desmond,” Bond said, pulling him in for a long kiss. “You have forever entrapped me in your snare.”

“I’m glad whatever M was implying didn’t shake you,” Q said, trying to bask in the warmth of Bond’s body. “You only ever try to be poetic when you’re truly chuffed.”

“May I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Bond asked, his low timbre making the quote sound more sultry than it originally was implied to be. 

“Only if we can eat. After the last 48 hours, I have found myself needing far more rest, due to your particular brand of stress that you bring upon me,” Q said, squeezing at Bond’s hip. 

“I love you too,” Bond murmured, pressing a kiss behind Q’s ear. 


End file.
